Cause, reason, and aftermath
by IshiIchiMari
Summary: Three short drabbles with given prompts in order to crack a writer's block. What comes first, what has happened, and the result of chosen decisions within the Ishida family will of course, be what these so-called 'drabbles' are about. (Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I own the characters.)
1. Chapter 1

The following drabbles are for a _writer's block challenge. _They all will have _not _been read over, edited, or anything of the sort. As the title suggests, (if I ever get down to writing them) there will be _**three**_.

(The cause)  
Prompt No.1: Verbal

-X-

He should have expected this. The silent treatments, the unnatural avoidances within his own home; he should have realized that such occurrences would lead up to this point.

But he hadn't, and he was a _fool_.

The moment in which he came to realization, in pulling back the mask – in viewing the inevitable with his own eyes, he should have understood. Uryu was his son, a mere child, no less; just because he sought so foolishly to destroy hollows more than ten times his own size did not mean he would remain unaffected to witnessing such horrors which would include death. Ryuken knew – as much as he loathed to admit – that his son was nowhere near as strong as he claimed to be. Although he stood tall in front of his presence, the refusal to meet his eye – the shaky form which he took on, upon facing him head-on; he _knew _the boy was far less capable of handling grief than he sought him to be.

And that's why he was facing this now.

"Eat." Voicing the word silently, though holding within his tone – a slight amount of disdain, the very response of an unaffected shifting of metallic silverware brought with it a sudden breath, emitted slowly, through parted lips.

"Uryu—"

"No thank you."

Listening to the quiet voice, however murmured and slightly shaken, azure optics slowly but surely, lifted their gaze. Arching an inquisitive brow, as if demanding an answer to an unspoken question; the silence he's met with is almost suffocating as the tension within the room increases ten-fold.

So that's how it's going to be.

"If you're finished here then clean your plate, finish your homework, and go to bed." Keeping his voice stern and unwavering, his expression the same in retrospect; blue irises, seemingly aloof and clearly disinterested glance back down at his plate, in order to avoid the young infant. However…

"N—No…"

Lifting not only his gaze, but his head this time – cerulean optics glance down at the child, inquisitive and slightly irate. "No?" The word is spoken, repeated in a tone that's nearly dismissible; though that's hardly the case, in this very moment.

"No…"

Watching tiny hands, smaller than the average press curtly at their plate, thin eyebrows press towards one another as an unimpressed expression begins to grace the elder's features.

As lips begin to part and eyelids begin to lift, the abrupt scratching of wood against the flooring has the doctor glancing downwards, and at his only son. As those small, miniature hands press tightly to the table, the subtle tremble to the smaller form does not go unnoticed, though it isn't remarked upon.

"What are you doing?"

"I-I'm going to bed," Is the stuttered response, similar blue irises avoiding his gaze entirely as the boy's face becomes veiled by a curtain of black. "I finished my homework earlier, and the teacher said it was going to be early again, but I—I don't want to do any more."

Watching the child quietly, however curious yet more so unhinged; the moment in which his lips part once more to speak – the visual wince to the younger's form comes naturally with his tone of voice, despite him not understanding why.

"You will finish, then." Is the unmistakable answer, pale fingertips reaching idly for a packet of cigarettes. As it dawns on him that such things are left discarded in his coat pocket, no longer on him – but in the opposite room, the hand instead lowers to a jean-clad thigh; gliding against the material as he continues to speak. "Completing tasks early allows you more time to brush upon your studies; rather than begin research on foolish, Quincy subjects." Watching as a wince yet again happens, once more, the very fact that Uryu now knows that he's well aware of what he's been up to in his free time, might, perhaps allow them to avoid this subject in the near or distant future. "If you've completed those tasks and wish to learn more, retire for the evening instead of wasting your time with such unnecessary things."

Brushing from his seat and shifting from the table, a thin piece of china is taken into his grasp. Walking in the silence which engulfs them soon after, long strides are taken – if only to halt. The cause of their stop in movement, however, is not his inability to continue. But the soft, nearly unnoticeable whisper which then comes from an unmoving form.

"What was that?" Ryuken questions, glancing down at the child who seems almost _scared _in his very presence, despite not needing to be. Although just as he pauses, moves to continue in thinking that nothing more will be said – it's then that the first ever verbal, shout of defiance escapes pale lips as those childish hands clench.

"I-It's not unnecessary! And you're wrong! Sensei might not be here to teach me, but I will learn!"

Watching the rapid rise and fall of the startled one's chest, the almost apathetic gaze which the younger is met with is perhaps the thing that sets him off.

"You're no more my family than Sensei was! I wish _he _was here, and not you!"

Parting his lips to voice a protest, to speak what is _unthinkable _within a child's presence, the sudden movement of the child running elsewhere is perhaps what's best for the both of them, at the moment, as a sudden unknown, suppressed amount of anger flitters through the elder's system.

He supposes he should run after him, correct this misunderstanding and strengthen whatever ties have been left behind. But for some reason, the distant sound of footsteps that only seems to grow quieter hinders him from doing so, keeps him rooted in-place as his fingers become loose around the objects they hold. And then, as if unthinking—the plate is dropped. Into the sink with an inaudible splash—left there, discarded, momentarily forgotten. Gliding his hand along the sink and pressing himself away from it, the soft slamming of wood against its hinge echoes faintly throughout the empty home, holding within it, no more than two.

Despite the knowledge within him, being aware of what he should do; go to the child, reassure him, fix what's been broken. His footsteps seem to lead him elsewhere, unwavering, as they ignore the current situation. And instead of facing what could be considered the first, of many fights to come; he does something else.

Searching for his jacket and finding where it's been discarded, a single cigarette is placed between pale lips as the doctor moves to do instead, what he knows best: distract himself from the reality which he no longer desires to live in.

Moving elsewhere, and heading out; leaving the child behind in their seemingly abandoned home - the first of many nightshifts is taken, since the eldest Ishida's passing. Though certainly, it won't be the last.

God only knows which direction this path will lead them.


	2. Chapter 2

(The reason)  
Prompt No.2: Leave

-X-

He knew this day was coming; just as he had known the last. Silent arguments turned verbal, and verbal, almost threatening – perhaps he should have recognized the symptoms sooner, which lead to this.

Although the room had once been occupied, it never held a variety of objects. A bed, a few blankets, some pillows and some sheets; a dresser, some toys long-since discarded, some notebooks, and a few extra things. Despite the fact this _room _belonged to a boy within his early teens, the objects that had once been held within it, had always been few. For the sake of saving space, or not having to deal with clutter – he didn't know— whatever the reason, it didn't matter now; for he no longer had to concern himself with such things.

_I'm leaving. _Had been the words spoken, the final phrase ever directed at him from the very teenager whom he raised since birth. With bags packed tightly, and bound at his sides; he had understood immediately, without needing the words.

And perhaps he didn't react as well as he should have.

Although he had known that this day were to come – and, much unlike most parents who would assume it'd be in growth – he had both known it would happen, and that it would happen soon; despite his son being merely a child, one still currently in his early teens. He had still been unable to control the inevitable reaction he had to such meetings—for even though he anticipated it, his approach was unavoidable.

So, as stated, having already expected it or not – he had reacted just as emotionless as he had in the past. Features placid, expression veiled; a look of disinterest might have been what set him off. Whatever it was that caused pale fingertips to grip their bags, expression turning from slightly uncertain to clear, dignified, and resolute— it most likely could have been avoidable, if he had been willing to do so. But it was a test of wills, a test of _personality _– and above all else, a test of defiance. There had been many situations in the past, which had hinted at such an outcome leading to this result; yet he had faced each one not head-on, but with tact. Unlike a normal parent whom would cower with worry in hopes that their only child would not yet leave the nest, he reacted both instinctual and perhaps territorial in rising to the challenge.

It had been _his own_ foolishness to push Uryu over the edge, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Standing at the doorway and voicing his decision, he hadn't stopped the boy from leaving his home. Although the smallest sliver of uncertainty had remained, he had chose to ignore it – opting instead to react as he had been over the years, not showing in any form or any sense, that he cared.

And perhaps that was the reason; maybe it was? That because it seemed as though he didn't care, Uryu felt inclined to leave. Without Soken around to 'keep the peace', and with nothing between them to block out any and all negatives which seemed to happen so _naturally _between them, their fate was perhaps inevitable, and previously sealed. Avoidable – to some extent, should Ryuken have been willing – but inevitable, no less, that this would happen.

But _did he care?_

To go after the boy meant admitting defeat, to do anything else – was perhaps cowardly. But for some reason, he did neither of those things, and instead did the opposite.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Not run after the male – still a child – and force him to come home. Not call him, check up on him, or admit to any wrong-doings. There was no words passed from his lips, to Uryu's ear; none written, none verbal; to put it simply—no communication whatsoever. And he was at fault.

Uryu had left, and what was done – has been done. There was no inclination, no nagging sensation that he should do anything other than this; and perhaps, he thought, even if he wished to do so – he had no right. Who was he, as a man hardly acting like a father, to demand something of a child who harbored no resemblance? Who was he to take whatever so-called 'dignity' Uryu apparently had, and snatch it away from him, with one simple phone call. There was no need, in his opinion, to change what had been done; for it was no longer any of his concern – not his problem; nor should it be, again.

If Uryu's own foolishness, being a result of his own, should lead to anything regretful – then so be it. In packing his bags, in hoisting them up, in turning out the door and in allowing it to close – Ryuken had allowed Uryu to seal not only the boy's fate, but perhaps his own. And maybe he should have felt remorse, sadness, or something of the sort in being rendered powerless in doing so; though in his eyes, that wasn't the case. It was so very far from the truth.

Uryu had chosen his own path, and followed through. If that's what he wished to do – and if that's how he had chosen to leave things, Ryuken would be in no position to argue, to become _irate _from it, request a renewal, or do anything of the sort. Uryu had done his part in leaving, and gathering up the courage to do so, and now it was his turn to do the same.

Leave Uryu be, in respect of his wishes – and do nothing, _absolutely nothing, _because this was no longer a battle he wished to take part in. Uryu was gone, the doors had been closed; just as his own heart had been sealed long ago.

Should he choose to return from where he came, it'd be up to his own silly antics to decide. For now, the door would remain locked; shut tight, and sealed. If there was any desire to return home to a place that could barely be defined as such, it would be up to Uryu to find his way in – to dig his way through – to keep put in such a place, and find out how to see things through.

For now, he'd do nothing – just as he had currently been doing and had done in the past. For the path they had chosen, and the road they had walked across was already an indicator of what was soon to come.

Or lack thereof, really, in meetings and such. Because 'family reunions'—who would have them, when there no longer was one?

Because there wasn't.

A family, that is.

The first step would be to acknowledge this, and hopefully in turn - Uryu would too.


	3. Chapter 3

(The aftermath)  
Prompt No.3: Dispose

-X-

Nothing had changed.

Although days turned into months, and months into years; there had been no visits, no phone calls, nothing of the sort that hinted that Uryu'd return to the home he once knew.

But it was to be expected. In leaving the way he had – leaving so much unsaid, yet displaying too much; there were no doubts within the doctor's mind that Uryu would refuse to return. Should he wind up bloodied, bruised, or injured due to his own stupidity and lack of understanding, the notion that he'd s_till _remain held up – wherever it was he now lived – rather than seek aid from his own father, was perfectly normal.

Not normal in the sense that it was natural, but perhaps referring to Uryu's personality, it was. Unless desperate, in need of assistance and with no place else to go – the stubborn teenager would most likely crawl, hands and knees covered in grime elsewhere, rather than to Ryuken.

Typical. But what more could he possibly expect?

It was in leaving things as they did, that left no room for him to return. Although things had been left as they were, upon Uryu's removal of himself from his previously-labelled home, he had known even in viewing the expression which the boy had adorned on that day, that unless _forced, _he would no longer return.

Perhaps that should have got to him, more than it did.

The way Ryuken viewed it, what was left was as nothing more than a _task. _Another thing to clean up after, another thing to do. Although initially, things had been left as they were; the more things became cluttered, and the more small, insignificant things began to nag at his subconscious – the urge to simply _get rid of them_, to dispose of that which no longer held use was unavoidable, at best.

So that was the result.

Packing up what had been left behind, not inside, but outside of Uryu's room; things had been discarded at a steady pace. Stowed away, placed within an area that would never to be touched, it would be there that the objects would remain.

It wasn't exactly necessary, nor would _not _have doing that caused him any harm – but it seemed as though that was the only way he'd ever get a piece of mind. The room which Uryu had once occupied, however, remained untouched; the only things still held within it, a mattress, a bed, a lamp and the remnants of a dresser; meaning there was hardly any use in cleaning out that which barely held within it, anything at all.

But that wasn't everything.

Oh no, not at all.

Walking around the home was not a daily ritual. Keeping himself preoccupied with work, as he had done the past few years his son had still remained in his home, he had barely taken notice of the home's current state; the things left behind, and the remnants that remained. It wasn't until _forced _(how humorous, seeing as he had previously stated that Uryu would have to have done the same) to return here, on a day off, no less, that realization had begun to sink in, and that he'd set to clean up the mess which he had created.

Or really, get rid of anything that had no purpose; remove anything he didn't want nor need, even if the only thing it held within it were memories.

Old toys, discarded objects, anything and everything that had no use. Disposal was the only way to get any peace of mind, it seemed; and he was determined to do so, if only to distract himself from wandering thoughts. In the end, what was left was a shell of a home: furniture, a fridge that never gets emptied, and a few lonesome utensils. It's in completing the task – the one which, so obviously, focuses on the aftermath of his actions; does he find himself situated upon the very couch which a young boy once occupied in waiting in hopes that his father would soon to come home. Held within his hand – ironically, at that – a single object remained that had yet to be put away.

Little did he know it would be the one thing he'd be hesitant to rid himself of; and, rightfully so – be the only thing he would ever feel inclined to keep.

Trailing his thumb along the lone image, the photograph – of sorts, that had been taken quite a few years ago; a brief pause of hesitation is the only clue he's given, before he rises to his feet immediately and makes his way towards the kitchen. Placing a foot down and nearing the sink, stepping on a single – silver pedal which automatically lifts a lid; his movements are immediately stilled – stopped, for some reason: his hand lingering loosely as it's held high above the garbage pail. The object in his hand, however, is held _unnaturally _tight.

How troublesome.

Leaving immediately and stowing the object away, pale hands grip forcibly at a discarded jacket. Tugging it on and forcing it over his shoulders; both arms are slid within its confides as he makes his way out the door before he pauses – hand at the handle. Glancing inside with a gaze which seems almost detached, no more than a mere moment is given in order for him to gaze over the insides before the door is then shut – locked, and sealed.

Placing his hands into his pockets and turning towards his most obvious destination, perhaps this evening's contents should have been a clue. One which showed him how far off he had strayed from the right path which wouldn't have involved the day's activities, which would have allowed him to avoid them entirely – though he had long-since been rendered blind to such obvious facts. Well…. Not completely, at least. Not as much as he'd hoped.

Although his mind had chosen to block out the facts which would point him in the right direction – the aftermath, his decisions, the very object which he had _kept – _the picture of a child, no older than seven, hands holding tightly to his newly bought backpack, would be the single object hidden, that forced his heart into recollection.

Even if his mind refused to acknowledge that he thought anything more than _this, _it would appear as though his heart would remember so much more. Just as, albeit unknowingly, his own father had mentioned to the very boy whom perhaps shared the same thoughts as him, as well.

To understand each others' heart... Now wouldn't that be interesting?


End file.
